Growth
by kouw
Summary: They grow from lust to love. Rated M for a reason and I am not talking violence...
1. Dining room table

**A/N:** Ladies and gentlemen, a very smutty chapter fic!  
Please do review, reviews make me happy!

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Downton is never completely quiet. Not even in the blue hour before the dawn. The clocks tick, wooden floorboards creak, a tap releases constant drops in the sink. Elsie's footsteps sounded like a sheet of paper slid across a desk: barely a noise, but noticed in the silence. She wandered through the house, the rooms vacant, the family weekending in Scotland for grouse shooting, the servants taking their opportunity: early bed and late rise. She couldn't sleep though. A creature of habit: she missed her glass of wine and little gossip with Mr Carson.

Whenever he went away for the season it took her almost a week to get used to his absence. He was in the house now, no doubt he slept the sleep of the tired in his room. Elsie opened the door to the dining room. She had told the maids to air it, to give it a good once over. The dining table shone in the pale moonlight, it smelled of furniture polish. She slid the tips of her fingers over the sideboard and rubbed them over her thumb. Perfectly clean. She did the same with the mantle.

The stairs creaked with the solid weight of a person and Elsie looked around. Charles. He was looking straight into her eyes and then his gaze hovered over her form, her legs, back upwards, lingered at her chest. Elsie's felt her heart speed up, her breathing became more laboured as he came towards her and took her in his arms.

She wasn't afraid. He kissed her, hungrily and she leaned into him answering his kiss with an equal hunger, a desperate need. Charles broke away, his eyes questioning and she nodded, barely noticeable. His lips were on hers again almost forcefully and she pressed herself against him. She pulled her lips from his and kissed his cheek, his jaw, the soft skin when his neck met his shoulder. A rumble escaped his throat as she ran her hand down his chest, over his navel and landed on him.

Elsie fell on her knees, yanking his pyjama bottoms and shorts down slightly, freeing his erection and taking a firm hold of it and tasting it. Swirling her tongue around the tip, trying to fit as much of him in her mouth as she could, caressing his bare bottom with one hand as she rubbed the length that wouldn't fit. She heard his laboured breathing, his hand was in her hair, but didn't coax her to do more than she did.

She could feel the muscles in his bottom and upper legs spasm and he removed himself from her mouth, pulling her up by her hands and leading her to the table, hoisting her up and pushing her down, so her back and head laid on the perfectly polished table. The wood felt cold against her and as Charles lifted the hem of her nightgown, she closed her eyes and concentrated of his breath on her ankle, her shin, the inside of her knee.

His hand reached under her robe and nightgown, she felt the tips of his fingers on her thigh, the edge of her knickers and then he undid the ribbon, lifted her up and took them off. He hovered over her and kissed her softly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and sat upright as he touched her. A warm, throbbing sensation spread through her parts, a knot started to tighten in her lower abdomen. She placed her hands behind her, leant back and bit her lip as he moved his fingers to her folds, deftly stroking the bundle of nerves in her center. She gasped loudly and threw back her head.

He positioned himself just so and he looked at Elsie and she nodded again. She couldn't wait much longer and she tugged at his pyjama shirt, pulling him towards her and kissed him hard. He took a step closer to her and she felt him so near her, she couldn't stand it. She lifted her legs and grabbed his bottom, effectively taking him.

He moaned as he took her and she let out a quiet cry, remembering they were not alone in the house. She bit his shoulder as he struck up a pace. A rhythm between them that seemed familiar made her pant and gasp. He held her thigh in his hand, she laid back down and cherished the feeling of him sliding in and out of her. She arched her back. Her breathing was out of control and she could hear her noises mixed with his echo in the room.

Charles started to shock slightly and he put his thumb on her, making a circular motion as he thrust in and out of her and Elsie couldn't hold back. Waves of pleasure overtook her and she felt Charles twitch as he spilled himself inside her. As she resurfaced, they stayed completely still for a few moments. She sat up again and put her head against his chest. His heart was racing and she smiled. His arm was around her shoulders, his lips on the top of her head.

When he let her go, he pulled up his shorts and pajama bottoms and she picked up her knickers from the floor, stepped into and tightened them around her waist. The both pulled their robes around them. He looked at her and she looked back. They both broke into a smile. With a final squeeze of her hand, he left the room and she watched him leave, his back straight, his head held high and she nodded to herself, tightening her lips.

When she arrived at breakfast the following morning, everything followed its usual routine.

"Goodmorning Mrs Hughes." He stirred his tea but didn't avoid her eyes.

"Goodmorning, Mr Carson." She answered, her look steady, her whole demeanor calm.

"Did you have a good night?" He asked.

"Oh yes, Mr Carson. A very good night."

He smirked. Elsie sat down and picked up the teapot. As she poured herself a cup, she felt his hand on her thigh and she turned her head to him. His eyes questioned her and she smiled at him.

She was sure there would be more good nights to come.

Which greatly pleased her.


	2. Sink

**A/N:** Thank you for subscribing and reviewing, I really appreciate it!

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She normally didn't stay behind from church. She enjoyed the peace she found in the small stone building, the comforting words of the vicar and the conversation in the churchyard after the service. But today she stayed in the house, taking care of a soiled sheet one of her youngest maids had confronted her with. She had explained things to the girl who had seemed quite relieved and promised her to take care of it.

That was why she was bent over the sink in the laundry, her sleeves rolled up, her hands immersed in cold water. She took a bar of lemon soap from the tray and worked at the sheet, humming under her breath. The work is not unpleasant. Her mind wandered, she didn't hear his footsteps behind her. His hand on her shoulder startled her at first, but he whispered in her ear.

She didn't turn around, her hands held on to the sheet, but she nodded. She felt how he let go of her shoulder and took hold of her waist and started kissing her neck, licking her earlobe and one hand stealing away to her bottom, cupping one cheek, massaging it. Her heart beat fast, too fast almost, but she enjoyed how his fingertips slid from her waist to the crease of her bottom. A quick squeeze made her throw back her head, her eyes closed.

His hands left her bottom and started pulling up her dress, her underskirt, his hands were soon on the bare flesh between her stockings and her knickers. He started rolling down her right stocking to her knee, then the left. He didn't get up, but started to kiss the exposed flesh, her skirt bunched up around her waist, leaning against the sink, her hands still in the water. She had let go of the sheet. His tongue traced from the inside of her thigh to the edge of her knickers. The satin ones were a new style, she wasn't yet used to them. They showed a lot more than her familiar cotton ones had done and they didn't fasten with a tie, but with elastic.

She knew he could see right up them and it didn't take long for him to nip and kiss her skin, just under the hem. Elsie grabbed hold of the sink. His teeth took hold of her knickers and he pulled at them, unable to get them down. He let go of her skirt and it fell around him, Elsie imagined it obscured most of him from sight. He hooked his fingers under the elastic and slid down her panties, one hand in the hollow of her knee coaxed her to lift the leg and the underwear fell on the floor.

He pried apart her legs. She could feel herself quiver under his touch. He pushed up her skirt again, her bottom bare against the air. His mouth was on her, the back of her thighs first and slowly he kissed his way towards her sex. She could feel how the muscles there squeezing together. He let go of her dress with one hand and she moved so that she could hold it up between the sink and herself. His free hand cupped her, his fingers opening her folds just so.

An involuntary sharp intake of breath as he pressed his mouth to her wetness. He lapped at her, first with long strokes, but shorter ones soon, his fingers joining, sliding in and out of her. She held on to the sink, her knees slightly weak, her head filled with mist. When he slowed down and stopped, she whimpered and argued: "No… don't stop… please… don't stop…" But then she heard how he unfastened his trousers and felt the tip of his member against her and she pushed her bottom out and he carefully entered her.

A profanity rolled off her tongue. His hands were on her hips, the skirt of her dress had partially fallen into the sink, but Elsie didn't care, she loved the feeling of him thrusting into her and she moved with him. His hand travelled up her frame. Her breasts had come free from her corset and he held one in his palm through the fabric of her dress and shift, still sending a shiver down her spine.

She was being vocal, she knew because he was making noises too: pants and gasps and incoherent words. He drilled at her relentlessly, touching her exactly like she wanted to be touched and she was so close. So close… She let go of the sink with one hand and brought it to herself and touched her nub as he was calling her name, again and again.

They stilled. He slid away from her and helped her to stand upright. Her legs felt la little wobbly. He put his arms around her, embracing her from behind before he took a step back, allowing for her to pick up her underwear and put it back on. She checked her dress. The skirt had not gotten as wet as she had expected. She corrected her underclothing and smoothed out the creases in her dress. She gingerly felt her hair. It had partially come undone and she pulled out all the pins and did it up, like she had done thousands of times before. She needed no mirror to gain a respectable look. Then she turned around and looked at him.

His cheeks were flushed, his brow slightly sweaty.

"Cup of tea?" She asked.

"Yes, please." He answered.


	3. InsideOutside

**A/N:** Thank you all so much for your reviews and subscriptions!  
(if you feel awkward about reviewing this fic, anon is on, if that helps)

Reviews terribly appreciated!

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She woke up early, the sound of scullery maid making themselves presentable in the bathroom floated through the air. Elsie got up, put on her robe and took her keys to open the doors to the stairs and the bachelor's corridor. Behind her a wiry girl of fifteen, eager to start her day.

She returned to her room, undressed to her bare skin and crawled back under the covers, waiting for all the maids to traipse downstairs, leaving her a few moments peace to get to the right frame of mind before going down herself and become the strict and upright housekeeper.

She rubbed her eyes to get rid of her dream, but it wouldn't pass and she touched her cheek, her jawline, her neck. She slid her other hand over her shoulder, her upper arm. She cupped her breast, her hand so small, her nipple rested at her index finger. For a moment she laid still, her mind turning to her dream, to him. How his hands were large and strong but delicate.

How he lowered his mouth over her collarbone and kissed and suckled at her and how he would swirl his tongue over her stiffening peaks, his hand on her back, taking hold of her bottom, pulling her against him.

The idea of his desire against her hip made her massage her breast and the hand that had been in her neck travelled south, touching her navel, going further, slowing only when she felt the moist curls that hid her. With two fingers she outlined the contours of her folds before slipping between them, finding how her fantasy had made her so ready and willing.

She rolled her hips as she touched herself expertly, her breathing laboured and muffled, biting back the gasps, fighting to not whisper his name, her small fingers at her nub, her hand still playing with her breast. She was so close, but she changed the tempo, giving herself a little longer.

A rapid knock and the voice of a maid, telling her that some had been injured. She called she would be there directly and uttered a frustrated moan before putting on her clothes and fixing her hair. She moved slightly uncomfortable, she felt her center tingle with every step she took. When she came downstairs, the injury was so minor, there had been no need to call her at all. She sighed deeply when she took her place at the table, waiting for her tea and reaching for a piece of toast when he brushed his hand over her tigh. Her arm held still in midair for a moment and she turned to him.

She shook her head, suppressing a moan when his fingers travelled upwards. "Later…" she said under her breath. They ate in silence and when she had put her maids to work, she told the head housemaid she would go into town to run an errand. She walked past his pantry and pushed open the door.

"I am going now."

"Would you like some company?"

"I wouldn't want to impose."

"Let me get my coat."

They walked the well-worn path towards the village in silence. When they were out of Downton's sight, she let her hand slip into his. His hand was warm and firm and she fell into step with him. When they were halfway to town, she tugged at his hand and pulled him into the patch of woodland. She trod carefully around the trees and shrubs until they came out on the other end where the pond was.

She looked around for a perfect spot and found a bit of turf. She sat down on it, taking him with her. She pushed him over and straddled him, leaning forward, kissing him. He kissed her back, his arms wrapped around her, the sounds of birds and the wind in their ears. She tore her lips away from him and breathed in his ear:

"I need you. Now."

He didn't question her. He rolled them over and got up, removing his coat and spreading it out on the grass. He took off his shoes, his socks, his jacket and shirt. He stood before her in his underwear and she scrambled up, taking off her coat and hat, unhooking her dress and letting it fall on the ground. She stepped into his embrace and tilted her head, ready for his kiss.

His mouth however didn't land on her lips, but on the swell of her breasts that spilled over the edge of her corset. He reached behind her, untying laces, loosening them and then snapping the fastenings in the front. Elsie rubbed her hand over the front of his shorts, savouring the feeling of control. She closed the last distance between them, pressing her breasts against his chest, their bodies separated only by their undergarments.

They lowered themselves unto his coat and laid back, pulling at his vest and her shift. She ran her fingers through his chest hair, once so dark, now greying but still plentiful and she pulled him on top of her, wrapping her legs around his waist. Her underwear rubbed against his, his desire against hers, moistening the satin of her knickers.

"Get them off me!" she ordered him, her voice unwavering. He smiled and slowly peeled the panties away from her bottom and deposed them near her other clothing. He quickly took off his shorts and teased her as he only entered her by an inch and pulled away again.

Elsie pushed herself up, leaning on one elbow and grabbing him by the hip and tightening the muscles in her legs. "Stop teasing me…"

Leaning forwards, he pushed her back and slowly enfolded her around him, kissing the side of her neck, her cheeks, her lips. She passionately kissed him back and released her legs from their tight grip, opening them wide. He placed his hands under her, her bottom in his palms and he slightly pulled her cheeks apart. Elsie arched her back, moving with him, moaning and panting, not holding back any of her feelings, her heart as open as the rest of her.

His hands moved from her bottom to her calves, pushing them up, draping her ankles over his shoulders and he almost drilled her. She put her arms around his neck, her breasts cradled against each other. "I love you…" The three words were separated by thrusts and moans of pleasure.

He let go of her legs, hovering over her and looking her straight in the eye.

"As I you."

For a short while they just stared at each other, but Elsie's hips moved of their own accord and she ground herself against him. "Please…" she asked and they recommenced. Elsie clung to the coat on the ground. All her senses stood on edge and she felt with each touch of his how she was getting closer and closer to toppling over the edge.

With a low groan he climaxed though and she almost scolded him: "No! No! Don't stop!" _Not for a second time today!_ she screamed inside her mind, but she needn't have feared as he manoeuvred her so she was sprawled over his lap, her bum high up. His hand softly stroking her bottom, his fingertip caressing the crease between her two cheeks, then lower and gently he eased first one finger into her, then two. She rocked as he went in deeper, finding places she never knew were there and she cried out with her release, slumping afterwards, needing a moment to gather her thoughts.

She rolled off his lap and laid on her side, her bottom on the grass, lest she soiled his coat. He laid down next to her, their faces turned towards the other. He gestured that she should lift her head and as she did, his arm snaked under her neck and around her shoulder, pulling her head so it laid on his chest. Elsie closed her eyes to the familiar heartbeat.

"We mustn't fall asleep." she whispered.

"We have an errand to run." he answered.

"I telephoned to the shop."

"You are a very wicked woman."

"I know."


	4. Walled courtyard

**A/N: **Thank you for your reviews and subs! I really appreciate them.  
This chapter is a little steamier again, let me know what you think!

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The air of her bedroom hung heavily around her. She had waited to go up, postponing the moment she would have to climb the stairs the final time of the evening. The sun had beat down on the house relentlessly for almost a week now, the temperatures rising in the servants' quarters, the family's rooms and within herself as well. She thought herself a rather patient person - she had to be with so many young people in her charge - but the warmth was getting to her and if she had to listen to one more of Mrs Patmore's shouts at Daisy, she was probably going to lash out in a way that befitted a Scottish Dragon.

Upstairs they had opted for Pimm's instead of wine and there had been nothing left over for Charles and her to share. The heat had taken its toll on Charles too: he was nodding off and she had sent him up, telling him she would take care of the locking up. She had done so and had slowly climbed the stairs. Now she was in her room pulling at her sleeves, while she kicked off her shoes. She had forgone on the heavy cotton underskirt, Charles had noticed when they had met on the backstairs, she was going up and he was coming down and in passing he had placed his hand on her bottom for a mere moment, pulling it away and smiling at her in a rather wicked way.

She breathed a heavy sigh of relief when she undid the fastenings of her corset. Tomorrow she would loosen the laces a bit more: her shift was drenched. She opened the corset fully and hung it over the chair to air during the night. She rolled down her stockings, took off her shift and knickers and stood still for a moment, hoping to feel the slightest breeze from the open window. There was not a sigh to be had. She decided to wash herself with the water in the jug, one of the maids had been sent up to put fresh water in all the rooms, and she splashed some over herself, but the water had gone tapid.

She pulled the pins from her hair and took the covers from her bed, folded the blanket and unceremoniously threw it on the floor. She took the sheet and laid down, pulling it over her midsection only. Even _trying_ to sleep seemed futile, the air in her room stifled her. She closed her eyes and concentrated on trying to breath as little as she could and touching the mattress even less. With her eyes closed, she kept seeing Charles: his chest hair moist with perspiration, the muscles in his arms flexing as he turned around in the bed, his firm bottom peeping from under the sheet…

She sighed again.

Then she remembered: she hadn't locked the door to the little courtyard behind the laundry. She shot up, swung her legs over the edge of the bed and got up. She took her robe from the hook on the door and wrapped it loosely around her. She flew down the stairs and made her way to the courtyard. Locking it was not really that necessary: climbing over the walls would be quite a feat. Her hand touched the ledger, but she didn't bolt it. If she were to go out, for just a moment, she would get a bit of cool air.

She lowered the door handle and opened the door. The night was not very bright, the humidity humming in the air, trapping the warmth. She longed for a thunderstorm, but she knew better than to wait for it. Outside was better than in, though. A few sheets were still drying and she put her hand on one. The clamminess was cooling her hand instantly and she carefully put her cheek against it too. The slates were cold on her feet and she savoured the feeling.

There was a small bench against the wall, but Elsie didn't sit down, instead she opened her robe and pressed her back against the wall, letting the wind cool the skin of her front and the stones her back. She closed her eyes, breathing in the night air.

She heard his footsteps coming from the kitchen to the yard. His tread was so familiar to her. She didn't move and kept her eyes closed. After all: he had seen her before a fair few times. When she sensed him before her, she said:

"I'm awfully warm…" and leaned forward from the wall, letting her robe slide to the ground.

"Me too." He responded. He put his hand on her shoulder. It was warm and clammy, Elsie's eyes shot open. He was wearing nothing but his shorts.

"At least I wore a robe…" she almost whispered.

"I don't need a robe for what I want." he said as he closed the distance and kissed Elsie hurriedly, almost roughly. Elsie let herself be pressed back into the wall. His hand on her breast made his member stand to attention and he pushed his shorts aside as he lifted her thigh and took her without ceremony.

Standing there, listening to him coming to her had been effective enough: there was no burn, only delicious friction. She grabbed him around his neck, hoisting herself up, urging him to hold her other thigh too, so she was supported by him and the wall.

He thrust in her, frantically, drops of sweat forming on his brow. Elsie slammed into the wall, she could feel bruises forming. At first she didn't mind, relishing the passion she felt between them, but after a while it did start to hurt and she whispered in his ear:

"Bend me over that bench…"

He carefully lowered her and she held back a disappointed whimper as he left her, though she knew it would be for a mere moment. He kissed her, more tenderly this time, his lips soft and velvety against hers. He nuzzled her cheek and took her hand, placing her on the bench, her knees on the seat, her hands on the backrest. She pushed her bottom out, curving her back.

He fumbled a little and she reached for him from between her legs and laid him against her entrance. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he filled her with his length and Elsie moved with him, her breasts bouncing as he slipped in and out of her, harder and deeper, the sounds of their tryst echoing against the walls of the small walled courtyard.

She kept as silent as she could, she could hear the laboured breath of Charles and concluded that if they had been together alone, he would have been noisy as well. He lowered his body over her back and took her breasts in his hands, pinching at her nipples, massaging the soft, firm flesh.

Elsie felt the knot in her core tightening, every stroke pushing her towards release. Charles was slowing down and she knew he was getting tired. She understood, he did not lift housekeepers and made love to them against a wall everyday. She retracted and turned around.

"Sit." She ordered him and as he sat down, she straddled him, her back against his chest again. Elsie rocked her hips, enjoying the feeling of being unable to get closer, of his breath in her neck, his hands on her hips as he guided her in the rhythm.

Words formed on her breath. His name, profanity, affirmations and she leaned back one more time before she allowed herself to be swept up by her climax. She rolled her hips a fair few times more, relishing the waves of pleasure and giving him a chance to unload. When he did so, she got up and sat down next to him, her head on his shoulder.

"I'm still warm." She said.

"Me too." His breath was still laboured.

"Want to take a cold bath?"

"But where?"

"The ensuite of the Blue Room?"

"Lead the way."


	5. bedroom

**A/N: **As always: thank you so much for reviewing and subscribing, it means a lot to me.  
All of these chapters are written as practice, since I always thought I was terrible at writing smut. Of course things can never be perfect and of course there will be inconsistencies between the chapters, since I didn't think of it being a full story until after the previous chapter.  
I really appreciate the reviews, I do hope to find a few in my inbox soon. .Normally I reply to all my reviewers, but so many remain anonymous, I can't and FFnet is being a right pain in the bum, so I don't get every review in. Please know that I really REALLY love getting yors and that your review is terribly appreciated! xx Kouw

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She doesn't know why it so often comes down to her, but she shrugs it off and sets to work. Scrubbing is good for the soul, she thinks. The repetative motion helps you gather your thoughts, gives room to explore the corners of your mind. It gives you a chance to focus on the broad shoulders of the Butler, the twinkle in his eye when he brings in half a decanter of leftover wine, of his strong and supple hands running over your calf, upwards to the hollow of your knee, further up, hooking his thumbs under the hems of your knickers, pulling them down and burying his face right where you long for him, his lips around you, his tongue flicking.

She pushes her hair from her eyes, her bun is coming undone from the vigorous activity, the bath is almost clean. She shifts uncomfortably, her underwear is stained, she can feel it riding up. There is nobody about and she decides to take them off. She throws them in the hamper, ready for the laundry and gets back to work. The rocking motion reminds her of the way he leans against her, moves her, her bottom pressed firmly against his groin, his hands on her hips, the night around them. Her hands on the edge of the sink, holding on for dear life as he takes her, his hand on her breast.

Her breathing is getting laboured. She tells herself it is from the scrubbing, but she knows better. She wipes the perspiration from her face and gets up from the floor when she is done with the bath. It is shining in the electric light. Spotless. She wrings out the cloth and flushes away the water. The bucket and cloth she puts at the top of the stairs. She wonders if she has a few minutes to herself and goes into her room. She took less time than she thought and an idea forms in her mind.

Quickly she runs down with her materials and puts them away in the scullery. Then she goes about the servants' hall, trying to find him. He is in his pantry, reading. She goes in, takes the book from him, places it on the table and picks up his hand. It feels warm and soft against her palm and she pulls him up from his seat and leads him away, letting go of his hand as he closes the door behind them.

"I really need your help, Mr Carson." Not a word of that is a lie.

"I couldn't do it myself. Not as well, anyway." Also the truth.

He follows her calmly up the first and second stairs, closer on the third and as they climb the stairs to the attic, his hand in on her bottom, his fingers grabbing hold of the soft but firm flesh. She shudders slightly. She leads him to her room, he closes the door behind him, but she motions him to stay where he is. She kneels by her bed and makes sure she doesn't sit on her skirt, hitching it up, just so he can see the edge of her stockings.

She no longer wears the dark cotton ones, she wears silk ones, sheer and soft to the touch and she feels him taking a few steps, the ground humming. Then his index finger on her calf, sliding up, like she had imagined as she was cleaning the bath. Upwards, over the hollow of her knee, over the back of her thigh, pushing up her skirt. She hears him gasp as he finds her bare bottom and he falls on his knees next to her, leaning over, kissing the soft skin.

"I can't find it… I think it's been taken care of…" she mutters and he embraces her, his mouth is on hers, his hands on her waist, her back, the back of one hand softly touches her cheek. They break away and he smiles at her. She smiles back, they get up from the floor and he envelops her, kisses her sweetly and she hungers for him, presses her hips out to meet his, nibbling at his bottom lip.

She pushes him on the bed and straddles him. She quickly loosens his belt, unfastens his trousers, frees his member from the constraints of his shorts and lowers herself over him, letting him fill her. She lets out a deep moan and stills for a short moment. He grabs her hand to help her steady herself. Then she moves, rocks like she did when she was polishing, the heels of her shoes pressing against the outside of his thighs.

The bed creaks, it isn't used to the activity. She grinds herself against him, savouring the feeling of having all of him sheathed in her. He pants, he guides her in her rhythm, but he can't take anymore, she can feel it, he desires a piece of control and she will let him, she longs to feel his weight on top of her. She slides off him, one leg on the floor, on leg still over him and he sits up. He gently takes her shoulders and turns her, lifts her leg, places her so he can enter her.

They are still clothed and as he hovers over her, she unties his tie, unbottons his collar and shirt. Her hand disappears between his undershirt and chest. The curls there tickle her palm, his warmth radiates of his chest and she comes up from her the pillow a bit to catch his lips with hers. Their tongues dance, their lips touch, plush and warm and moist. His member at her entrance still, he hasn't made a move yet and she lets herself fall back on the bed. She opens her arms wide and he strokes her cheek, kisses her cheeks, her forehead, her lips so softly, with such tenderness.

Then he makes his move. Her skirt is bunched up between them, his belt buckle scrapes at her thigh, but she doesn't mind. He takes her, his chest is on top of hers, his mouth by her ear, his hands placed on either side of her shoulders and she wraps her legs around him, catching his thrusts. She hears herself: her moans and pants. She feels how she holds onto him. She pulls his shirt from his trousers, buries her hands under his vest, the feeling of his skin under her hands so this is more real. More familiar. Less sordid. More necessary.

He changes his position, towers over her, takes her knee in his hand, smiles at her, kisses her calf as he lift her leg. He thrusts, he no longer looks at her, his free hand searches for her, slides over her dress, doesn't find what he needs. He looks up again, stills. She whimpers. He leans in, whispers in her ear and she nods. They resume their lovemaking and she feels the familiar tightening feeling in her core and her noises become louder. He puts his hand on her mouth and the pants and moans are muffled as he pushes her over the brink.

She climaxes and she feels how he loses himself in her. He carefully gets off her and lies next to her. They are cramped in her narrow bed and they gasp for air. He gathers her up and she lays her head on his shoulder. Something has changed, she isn't sure what, she can't be thinking about it now. With a sigh she gets up, leaves him on her bed. She takes a flannel and washes herself with water from the basin. He looks at her and she lets him.

She finds a clean pair of underwear in her drawer and puts them on. He gets up from the bed and fixes his attire, while she takes care of her hair.

"You might want to get a new shirt from your room." she tells him, indicating the creases.

"I will." he replies. They stand in the small room, a bit of daylight falls through the small window. They are silent, they stand so close together. Then he kisses her and leaves the room. She looks after him and runs downstairs, her mind full of him.


	6. Undressing

**A/N:** As always thank you so much for your reviews! And we are now arriving at the fluff. If it is too cringe-worthy, let me know. If you do like, let me know too! It's really nice to hear something about your writing, especially when you aren't entirely certain of what you have uploaded. So, don't hesitate, please!

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He sits at the head of the table and he talks to his footmen, telling them they have to hurry up, the ladies will be back soon, requiring tea. She looks at him from the door opening, a safe distance away. Even though they are at least fifteen feet apart, she knows how he must smell. How the skin of his back feels under her hand. She knows how his lips push against hers with urgency and tenderness.

She knows how tall he is, how he towers over her when he is on his knees behind her. She feels his fingers on the base of her throat where he wipes the perspiration from when they are in the middle of…

She wants to call it 'making love'.

It wasn't before. Before it was convenience. Two people seeking release. She found herself so in tune with him. She found herself trusting him, relying on him. She sought him out, found new places, new ways. Then there was the day she had brought him to her room.

They hadn't undressed. They had kept their clothes on, she had only taken off her knickers and he had kissed her and afterwards held her. She had wanted to turn in his arms, to rest for a while, but she knew she couldn't.

There was work to do.

They were not like that.

Or were they?

She observes him as he hands out tasks. Tells the boys where to go, what goes first, what to keep in mind, assuring them he is behind them every step of the way. They go up and he turns in his chair, stiff, he rolls his shoulder. She hears a faint crack and she knows how happy a thing it is that spring won't be long now.

She worries about him. She has always done, of course, but not like this. She strolls over and puts her hands on his shoulders. She massages them, warming the muscles, kneading out the knots. She sees how he closes his eyes and leans back slightly. He is hers in this moment, he surrenders and she touches him, rolling her hands over his jacket, his skin so familiar but out of reach.

The servants' hall is empty except for them. She hears the clattering of pans from the kitchen, voices from the scullery. He lets his head drop against her.

She bows over him and kisses his hair and immediately springs back, but his hand is around hers and he keeps her steady and he leans back again. The weight is warm against her, her dress and corset preventing her from actually feeling him, but in this moment even closer than when he had her on the dining room table. Warmer than the night in the courtyard. More familiar than when she had taken him to her room.

With the tips of her fingers she traces his hairline, his temple, his cheek. She puts her hand around it and he puts his hand on hers.

"Come." He says and he takes her hand in his. She walks with him to the stairs and he only lets go after he opens the green baize door. They go through and up to the first floor, then the second. They turn left. The house is quiet here, it is a part that is not used much and she knows. Their footsteps quietly echo against the walls of the corridor and he finds her hand again.

He holds out his hand when they are in front of the Blue Room and she hands him her keys. He unlocks the door and they go inside. She takes a few paces, waits for him to lock up behind them. The room is bathing in the misty sunlight of the end of winter and he wraps his arms around her from behind. Together they look out the window over the grounds. This is their home, she feels. More for them than for their charges, who often leave them for other places, other adventures.

He kisses her on her cheek. She reaches behind her for him, letting her hand get tangled in his hair, pulling him to her neck where he starts to plant soft kisses. He lets go of her and she turns in his arms, putting hers around his neck. She looks into his eyes.

They have changed. There are lines by his eyes that were not there when they had their first encounter all those years ago. His hair is greying at the temples. She pushes back the thought of the grey hairs she no longer pulls out. His body is still strong, his scent still intoxicating, but there is something else that is new. A certainty perhaps.

She tilts her head and he kisses her. She kisses him back, but the usual urgency is missing, their aching hunger replaced by something deeper. She breathes in deeply as their mouths open slightly and their tongues find each other. He takes his time, exploring, dancing with her, cupping her face. He lets his fingers travel to the back of her dress, unhooking it in the back, letting it slip to the floor as she pushes off his jacket, works on his collar and tie.

Together they carefully make their way to the four poster bed. They both sit down on the edge. They smile at each other as they bend over to untie their shoes. Kicking them off in perfect sync makes them laugh and he gathers her in his arms to kiss her again. She almost melts against him and she loses track of time.

Their clothes scatter on the ground as they progress. His trousers, her stockings, his shirt and vest. He pulls the laces of her corset and she doesn't scold him, the feeling of his hands so good against her. He undoes the fastenings, more clumsily than before and she cups his cheek again. They are on even keel now: both dressed in their barest undergarments: he in his shorts, she in her knickers and shift.

He is beautiful. She sees it now. She has seen his strength before, she has seen the long lines of his legs and back. She has seen the greying curls and the soft hairs in his neck, but now she sees it for what it is: all part of him. His gaze falls over her. His eyes are bright with something besides desire, though the desire is there, almost as an afterthought.

He takes her in his arms and they kiss again, thoughtfully. His hands slide down her back, land on her bottom, pressing her against him. The fire lights up in her loins, she gasps loudly when he puts his hand on her breast over the shift. The bed seems far, but they make it, fall on it, kiss frantically, like before. He pulls the shift over her head and they sit on the coverlet, their legs tangled, their hands touching the other where they can. He pushes her down gently and lowers his mouth over her breast, sucking at her nipple with devotion, giving the other breast equal attention with his hand.

She has her fingers in his hair again, pulls him against her, the beginning of his stubble rasps against her skin, grazes it and it feels unlike anything else she has ever felt. She squirms under him, her knickers moistening with her need for him. He finally lets up and gives her part of what she needs: he releases her from the constraints of her underwear and slides his hand from the inside of her thigh to her core, tracing the outline of her folds, driving her crazy with lust.

He cups her sex, his palm is at her center and she pushes herself against it, opening her legs wide for him. He applies steady pressure and looks at her, she notices between her moans and pants. She wants to ask something, why he is looking at her like that, why he is not moving, but she doesn't have to. He lowers himself onto her, removes his hand, replaces it with himself and slowly enters her.

She wraps her legs around him, coaxing him in, moving with a rhythm which is slower than usual, more purposeful than usual. Move loving than usual. She knows that is what is different between them now. She knows it has been growing over the years, that it came from respect, from working together. From sharing wine and tea and gossip. From companionship and familiarity and from that night he came to find her in the dining room.

She unwraps herself, puts her feet on the mattress, and puts her hands around his face. She looks at him as he brings her pleasure, as she brings him the same and she feels the world fall away. Her legs are strong and she rolls them over, losing him as they do, but quickly straddling him and claiming him again. She moves as slowly as he did, her hips rolling, his hand at her breast, her waist, her hips, guiding her, his sounds are delicious in her ears. She throws her head back, her hair is still up, but she feels the pins sliding.

He pushes her up and lets her come down on him, his movements controlled, designed to give her as much as she needs from him, but she holds off. She falls forward, her breasts on his chest, a smile on her face, warm and loving. She can't help it. She lets him slide from her and turns her back to him, lying on her side. He lifts her thigh, opening her up, filling her again from behind and gently lowers her leg.

They make love as they spoon, her form protected by his, their movements are slow. She feels how he puts his free arm around her waist, his hand lands on her breast. They rock, slide. He fondles her breast and softly strokes the skin of her abdomen. He kisses her neck, he dips the tip of his thumb in her navel, trails his hand down and starts to touch her there.

She lets out a hiss, unable to hold back. She wants to grant him better access, lifts her leg awkwardly and his voice is against her hair.

"Shh…"

He lets her go, puts her on her back again. He crouches between her legs, pries them apart, lifts them and enters her a little more vigorously. She lets out a low moan, the feeling is all she wants, right there where he touches her now and he doesn't stop, he thrusts in her, keeps up a steady pace that slowly increases. The bed creaks slightly, the coverlet crumples in her fists and she moans and gasps. She can feel him getting closer too, his movements forceful and deliberate. He takes her hand, places it on herself and she understand what he wants from her.

She stimulates herself as he keeps on going, she takes hold of her breast, tweaks the nipple, gasps and she topples over the brink as he starts to make sounds of exstacy. He collapses beside her, the bed is wide, there is plenty of room for both of them. She scoots up a bit, giving him some space, but he holds her against him. He picks up a tip of the coverlet and he tugs so it comes loose from under both of them and puts it on top of them.

"I don't want you to get cold." He slides his arm under her head and she adjusts herself so she lies on his shoulder.

"I won't when I am with you." She bites her lip. She doesn't say things like this.

"Good." He bends his arm, his thumb softly stroking her shoulder and with his other hand he brushes her hair from her face. Her bun has come undone completely. Together they stay in the bed, they don't speak. She listens to him breathing, she hears his heart beat under her ear where it lays on his chest. He kisses her hair and she closes her eyes.


	7. Blue bedroom

**A/N**: Thank you all for your kind words, it really means a lot! Another slightly fluffy chapter, but no large revelations and realizations as in the last chapters. Please do read and review, it really makes my day!

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They seek each other out, he pushes her against the wall, kisses her hungrily. She puts her arms around his neck, pushes out her hips so there is no space between them. His hands roam her body in dark corners, she swipes of the front of his trousers under the table during dinner. There is no stopping it. Their simple carnal hunger has turned into a love hungry beast that must be fed constantly.

When she goes in front of him on the backstairs, he puts his hand on her bottom and she can't think straight. When he goes first, her hand closes around his bum and he turns around with a smile. His smile is her undoing. She lets go of him, but grabs his wrist and yanks him down so he almost loses his balance. They kiss, hard, urgently, more urgent than when they started all those years ago. Something creaks in the back and they spring apart, go up the stairs, back to work.

There is a lull between upstairs luncheon and tea. Time used to their leisure, where they used to do the accounts, each in their own room. They have changed their routine, the invoices are done quickly these days, just after breakfast. After their lunch she calls the shops from his pantry and he stands behind her, his hand slides from her bottom to her waist, up her breast. Her new dresses are lower cut, she feels his fingertips on the skin of her chest.

She keeps talking to the shopkeeper, orders supplies, food, cotton. His lips are on her neck, his fingers deftly unhooking her dress. She lets him, her head is getting cloudy, she swallows, asks the man on the phone to repeat what he said. He slides her sleeves down, a little clumsily because she has the receiver in her hand. He kisses her shoulder along the straps of her shift. She picks up the pencil by the pad and writes down the estimate and hangs up.

He turns her around, she leans into his chest, lets her lips be touched by his, keeps one ear on what happens around her. He kisses a trail down her cheek and jawline to her collarbones. His mouth is soft and warm, his breath hot against her. He steadies her as she stumbles when he starts to kiss her breasts as they spill from under her corset. For a fleeting moment she thinks she may be the only one left in the house still wearing one that laces in the back and fastens in the front, with hard, steel wires and cotton lining.

His hands around her waist snap the garment open, letting her breath deeper, her breasts rising. He buries his face in her chest, she puts her hands in his hair and lets him explore. Her shift protects her still, her dress is around her waist. From the kitchens she hears the shouts of the cook and the noise of pots being put on the stove with force.

"Stop…" she murmurs. She gently pulls away. "We can't do this here." She cups his cheek. He nods and straightens up, pulls at his jacket and rearranges his tie. She picks up her corset and puts it on again. In his eyes she detects a glimmer of desire, burning strong. She fastens her dress and checks the mirror for her hair. His eyes look at her in the reflection and she smiles at him, turns and rearranges the rogue lock that falls over his forehead.

"Come…" she beckons him.

They speak of household affairs. Of polishing crystal, of the new junior footman who was proving to be not quite up to the job just yet. They climb the stairs, step after step, outwardly calm. She feels her blood pumping through her veins, she hears her heart beat in her ears. The corridor comes in sight, her keys jangle with her sudden increase in speed. He follows her, his eyes stealing over the halls, observing.

The key clicks in the lock, she lowers the handle and goes through, closing and locking up behind them. She drops the key on the floor, kicks her shoes off hurriedly. She doesn't look at him, she doesn't have to. She hears his shoes fall on the floor, heavy thuds and the sound of him taking off his socks, he hangs his jacket over the back of the chair. She reaches for her hair, pulling out the pins, putting them on that same chair by the door. He is with her in the blink of an eye.

He takes her in his arms and she lays her arms around his neck and tilts her head so he can kiss her. His lips are tentative, tender, soft, patient and she pulls herself closer to him, trying to make more contact, trying to feel more of him. His hand rubs her back. They stand there, kissing, for the longest time until he breaks their kiss and stares at her.

"What's the matter?" she asks.

"Nothing…" he answers. He takes her hand and they walk over to the bed. The bed they have remade a few times now. As they lay down, she can smell his pommade on the pillow and makes a mental note to change the linens in the corridor, a thought soon washed away by his attentions. His fingers ghost over her cheeks, her collarbones, runs along the collar of her dress. She reaches up to him, undoes his tie, the buttons of his shirt. He shrugs off his shirt and pulls his vest over his head and drags her over his chest, his fingers make quick work of the hooks on her dress, her corset.

He is still in his trousers and she starts kissing his chest, among the curls to his nipples, giving each of them a quick lick before going lower, to his navel, lower to the waistband of his trousers. She positions herself between his legs, unbuttons the top button, the next, another one. She puts her hand over the bulge that is stirring, lowers herself over him, kissing it through the fabric of his shorts. His quiet gasp sends a shiver down her spine and she grabs his trousers and pulls them down, coaxing him to lift his bottom for a brief moment.

As she sits on the end of the bed, kneeling in her stockings, shift and underwear, she finds him staring at her again.

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Do what?" He is nearly naked, her heart is pumping so fast, her breath is already laboured. She wants him so much, to feel his skin under her hands, to have him take her, to move with him to their familiar rhythm.

"Stare at me. It is unnerving."

"I am not staring." He opens his arms, she leaps into them, kisses him frantically. They become entangled with each other, he manages to take off her shift and rolls down her stockings, hooks his thumbs under the elastic of her knickers. He grabs her bottom, she straddles him, they roll over, the coverlet crumples under them, his lips are on the hollow between her chest and navel, his tongue in her navel, his hand runs over the inside of her thigh. She turns so she can fit him in her mouth. She takes him as deep as she can, savouring the salty tang that is distinctly his.

He groans with pleasure, loses his bearing. She unwraps herself from him, moves around, never letting him go, bobbing her head up and down, caressing his length with her mouth and hand. He enjoys it for a moment, then gently lifts her head away from him, cuddles her close. He lets his hand wander, opens her folds when she doesn't expect it yet, touches her where she loves it and she moans, arches her back as he applies more pressure, a circular motion. He lets her slide out of his embrace, licks her breast, sucks on her nipple, lies between her legs and enters her.

They move together steadily, without haste. Every motion is of importance, every breath, every pant, every gasp is heard. He stretches her, moves so deep within her, slides so expertly over her, she doesn't think of invoices, of dinner parties, of new aprons for the scullery maids. All she thinks of is how good it feels to be under him, with him. So close there is nothing between them anymore, they are joined perfectly.

As they speed up, she hears her sounds echo against the walls of the room, the springs in the mattress creak. Her core tightens, she opens her legs wider still, then wraps them around him, her heels in the soft firm flesh of his bottom.

"Oh…" She hears herself gasp. Her climax runs through her, like shattering waves. From the depth of her pleasure, she knows she has uttered his name and hopes he failed to notice. He falls on top of her, his breath is ragged, he wheezes a bit. They are getting old. She knows it from their sounds, from the wrinkles in their skin, from the way they touch each other. Their passion for each other is in no way diminished, the way they act upon it is.

They lie in each other's arms, he kisses her repeatedly. Soft pecks on her brow, her hairline. Her hair is tangled, but she doesn't mind. Her leg is sprawled over his middle, her arm wrapped around his torso. Her eyes flutter, she feels drowsy. The sound of his heartbeat. His breath has evened out. After a while she gets cold and wants to get up, get dressed.

"Wait." He says and covers them both with the bedspread. She cuddles up even closer, nuzzles the greying curls on his chest, sighs contentedly. He mumbles her name and she looks up. An enigmatic smile plays on his lips.

"What?" Her voice is cracked around the edges, her climax shuddered through her throat, she knows she made a muffled piercing sound as the walls collapsed.

"Nothing much." He kisses her again, holds her. He looks over her shoulder at the clock on the mantle. "We have twenty minutes to get ourselves presentable."

They don't move. Stay as they are. One more minute, she thinks.


	8. Intermezzo

**A/N:** Thank you for your reviews and for sticking with the story. Today a short chapter, not very smutty, but very intimate and quite angsty. Hope you will like it anyway and I will be uploading the rest of the story (there are a few more chapters) over the next three days, because I am going on holiday and I am too impatient to let you wait for them. Please do review, I know it is a bit strange reviewing a smut-fic, but you would be making me VERY happy.

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They still, he slides away from her. She rolls to her back, closes her eyes. She feels how he turns to his side, puts his hand on her stomach, gently rubs the skin with his thumb. She can't turn her mind off. It is a whirlwind in there. His touch had helped to put them aside for a few moments. He had undressed her with gentle care, held the covers open for her, let her slip in. She had watched him take off his clothes. She found him utterly beautiful still. He was so strong and the muscles in his legs flexed as he bent and stretched. She had reached out to him and he had taken her hand.

His kisses were soft, tender, he took his time with her, gave her every opportunity to stop him if she so wished. She hadn't stopped him, had let him touch her until she couldn't bear it. She had grabbed his hair, pulled him to her, kissed him with abandon, willing to disappear in him, to be part of him, for she knew he was stronger. She had wrapped herself around him, let him take her, fill her now her heart felt so empty.

For a while it helped, their familiar rhythm, his hand on her buttock, fingers digging in her flesh. She whispered his name repeatedly, kissed his brow, held on for dear life until she found she was being dragged away by her thoughts.

Her legs are strong from years of endless stairs, she thought she had guarded her heart, had made it as strong as her muscles.

She puts her hand over his, they are covered by sheets, blankets, but she feels exposed. There are more tears, she can't help it. She knows she shouldn't let it get to her, she knows she is not supposed to feel anything, that being who she is locks out having emotions. He takes her in his arms and puts her against his chest and she starts to cry in earnest. Heaving sobs that leave her throat raw. He doesn't shush her, he just holds her, leaves her be, his arms are tight around her and she hears how he sighs deeply when she calms down.

She sees a tear track on his cheek. The tip of her index finger traces it, lingers on his lips. A sad smile appears. He is as hurt as she is, she knows that now. They don't move, don't talk, just stay in the bed that has seen so many of their afternoons. It dawns on her that this room is the only place where they are themselves.

The blue tapestry on the wall has seen them age, their hair greying, their bodies become less firm, it knows the wrinkles in their faces. It has heard her quiet pants and the first time she spoke his name without knowing she uttered it. Now it has heard her weeping and she knows they cannot use it anymore. After today they will have to close the door behind them and go their separate ways, because she has allowed herself to do something she cannot burden him with.

She has fallen in love with him and she loves him. Not like a friend, not like a colleague. She loves him like a wife loves her husband.

And it cannot be.

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**A/N:** In case you didn't pick up on it, the war is upon them and they have lost William. Yeah. Sadness, I still can't bear having him gone :'(


	9. Found

A/N: Thank you all for your reviews and for telling me to POST NOW ;)  
I hope you all remember I am the Queen of Fluffy Smut... enjoy and don't forget to review!

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"We have to stop this."

The servants' hall is dark. She is wearing her nightgown and robe, her hair is done up tight in its braid. He wears his pyjamas and his robe too. They sit in their own places: he is at the head of the table, she on his right hand. They both are nursing a mug of tea.

"Why?" He asks.

It is a legitimate question.

"It's not right." Her mind is whirling, the wound the war has claimed still raw. She can't seem to think straight, there is nothing she wants more than to get into his arms, to be in the only place she feels safe and protected.

"Isn't it?" She looks at him. There is a hint of a smile on his face. He takes her hand. "We have always been like this." He adds. His hand is around her wrist. He tugs it, slightly and she get halfway out of her chair. Another tug and she falls into his lap.

What else is she to do, but to put her head against him, make herself comfortable.

"No, we haven't…"

"No… we haven't." He kisses her soundly and she can't make her argument, he has removed it from her mind. One of his hands in on her leg, he rubs it and feels the tin of pommade in her pocket.

"Why do you have that in your pocket?" He digs it out, looks at it, his eyebrows knitted together.

"I cleaned out the Blue Room a few nights ago." She lets him kiss her again, opens her lips for him, doesn't push his hand away as it unties her belt. She lets him ride his hand up her nightgown. She captures his bottom lip between her teeth. He puts her on the floor, takes off his robe, turns her so her bottom is against the table.

"We'll put it back tomorrow." His mouth travels down her neck, nips at her collarbone, only just within reach.

Her hands are in his hair. "Do you remember…" He makes her gasp as he roughly raises the hem of her gown and puts his hand on her bottom, one finger under the elastic of her knickers.

"That first time…" his voice quietly rumbles in her ear. She pulls herself against him, away from the table.

"Did you ever regret it?" She can feel his desire stirring against her hip.

"Never." He opens her robe, pushes it off her shoulders. Takes her nightgown and pulls it over her head. She only has her knickers on. Standing here before him, like she has done so many times before, she feels loved, wanted, needed in a way.

His gentle hands on her breasts, his warm breath on her cheek. He has taken off his robe and kicked off his slippers. She undoes the buttons of his pyjama top, but halts.

"No…" She shifts him aside, picks up her gown and robe, puts them on, gestures him to dress.

He is confused, she sees it, smiles at him, takes his hand. She leads him up the stairs, they climb higher and higher, she drags him away when he wants to walk towards the Blue Room and shakes her head.

One more flight of stairs, she opens the door to the maid's corridor, unlocks her door, takes him inside. She turns on the bedside lamp, sits on the bed. He puts his robe on the nail by the door, holds out his hand for hers and she gives it. He motions her to get off the bed and he pulls back the covers and climbs in, shuffles all the way against the wall, holds open the sheet and blanket and she lays herself next to him. Her back is against his chest and he puts his arm around her waist.

"Look." He points at their robes, his nose is in her hair.

"When we retire, they will always be like that."

There is a tidal wave of relief that runs through her entire body and she starts to shake. He doesn't let her go and she laces her fingers through his, tilts her head, lets her legs get entangled with his. When she finally stills, she turns completely.

"You knew all along." It isn't a question.

"Of course." They lean into each other and kiss. Softly at first, to seal their new status, but soon their kisses grow more heated, urgent like they were in the beginning, to still a hunger. He finds her tongue, she tastes him, tea and shortbread. Her hands are on the buttons of his pyjamas, untie the string of his bottoms, he lifts the gown over her head again, lavishes her breasts in attention. Kisses the pale skin, the rosy nipples, draws them into his mouth as her hands caress his chest, play with his curls, steal over his belly, one gets trapped between the waistband of his shorts.

She can't be bothered with it now, his hands are not staying still, one is going from the underside of her breast to her stomach, grabs hold of her knickers. She lifts her bottom so he can take it off. The bedcovers slide to the ground, her knickers land on top of them, his shorts follow. He is on his knees before her and she looks at him, hold out her hand. He presses his palm against hers, their fingers intertwine.

He doesn't break the contact as he runs his other hand over her arms, her chest, her stomach. He cups her sex and she opens her legs for him. His fingertips at her folds, her fingers around him, sliding them slowly up and down over his length.

Her eyes flutter shut, she bites her lip. He knows exactly how to move her, how to make her squirm. He releases her hand, hovers over her, one hand on each side of her. She cups his face, her thumbs touch the soft skin under his eyes. He must be tired, but he doesn't look it. He kisses her as he enters her and like that very first time in the dining room, she feels as if she has found exactly what she needs and she pushes her head into the pillow, digs her nails in his back as he moves her.

The bed creaks louder than the other time they did this, she finds it appropriate, fitting, though frightening. He notices, halts, looks around. He waggles his eyebrows and she shakes her head, doesn't understand and suddenly she is rolling off the bed, on top of the covers, where he takes her in a smooth movement. He has her buttocks in his hands, his lips are by her temple and it doesn't take long before they fall in their rhythm. It is familiar, comforting, exciting and she breathes heavily, moans, bites her lip again. He changes his angle, she gasps, says his name.

He pushes her towards release relentlessly and she feels how his thrusts become erratic, how he is getting close, he is panting, there is a slight wheeze coming from his throat. There are quiet affirmations, meant with every fibre of her being and just before she falls, she says it, the one thing she has never said before, not that way, that what had always been too big, not appropriate for a Housekeeper.

"I love you…"

Less than a whisper, but felt to the deepest of her being and she crashes around him, feels how she pulls him with her and they lie on the covers, catching their breath. He holds her tighter than normally, keeps kissing her sweetly, pushes strands of hair away from her face.

She is getting uncomfortable.

She scrambles up after gently releasing herself from his grip, gives him her hand, steadies him as he gets up. She lets him get in the bed first, looks around, decides to wash. She puts her foot on the chair and runs the flannel over the inside of her thighs, cleans herself. She knows he is watching her, the light is still on, she can hear a sharp intake of breath as she bends over. She gets up again, runs the flannel over her breasts, the cold water makes her shiver, stiffens her nipples.

"I love you too." He rumbles from under the covers.

She drops the flannel. Hurries to him, gets into bed, wraps herself around him. Presses her naked, slightly moist form against him. He falls asleep soon and she follows in moments.

They wake up from the scullery maid's customary knock.

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[a special shout-out to Ellie, who stuck by this story and is such a loyal reviewer: thank you thank you thank you!]


	10. Deciding

**A/N:** Thank you for your reviews everybody! They are massively appreciated!  
Outside it may be raining (and trust me, it is - almost of biblical proportions), but on it's entertaining! Hope you'll enjoy, things are getting firmer into fluffier terrain. Hope you'll enjoy!

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He pours tea, she puts sugar in it. He picks up two pieces of toast and she pulls the butter towards them. Their movements are synchronized and have been for such a long time, the others don't notice. His hand is on her thigh, her foot slips from her shoe, rubs against his calf. They stay behind when the others go off to answer bells. He takes her hand in his, only for a moment.

Her eyes follow him when he goes off and she sits still, pours another cup of tea. Thinks. She stirs, the spoon tinkles against the porcelain. She puts her shoe back on, takes a sip. She is tired and she doesn't feel like working on the linen rota. The invoices. Overseeing her maids. They are all perfectly instructed, have been carrying out their tasks for years, share their knowledge with the newer girls. She slices bread, slathers it in butter and jam. A kitchenmaid comes to clear, but she doesn't move. Lets the girl get on, sighs deeply.

She doesn't often feel like this, but more since they slept in her bed. She is tired and weary. The war has brought changes, the house stands solid, but the people in it are shifting. She has too many maids on her hands and too much time. She finds herself thinking of putting her feet up, of sleeping in. Of waking up in his arms instead of alone.

She worries about him. The war, the flu, the changes: they are taking their toll. His shoulders aren't as straight, he doesn't go up the stairs as easily as he used to. Neither does she. Maybe it is time, but they don't speak of it. They don't often speak of the future, even though she can see it clearly.

It cannot be far away now.

Another kitchenmaid comes to pick up her teacup and she pushes her chair back and goes into her sitting room. Works on the invoices, makes a list for the head housemaid, looks at the clock. Minutes tick away, she waits for him. She knows exactly where he is, she always knows where everybody is. She gets up, straightens her dress, checks the mirror. Her hair is getting grey. She pushes a pin back, nods at herself.

The stairs seem to get higher, the steps endless. It feels like a long time before she arrives in the drawing room, the footmen are polishing the furniture, he stands in a corner, watching them.

"Mr Carson, can I have a word?" her voice every bit the housekeeper.

He follows her. Another staircase, turning left. He grabs her hand. The keys clink against her hip, she holds onto his hand tighter than normally, wonders if he will notice. The door opens, she locks it behind them, sits on the bed reaches out to him. He sits down next to her.

"A word then." He acknowledges.

They both sigh. She smiles at him, a bit shakily, he takes her hand again.

"I am tired." She says.

"I know." He answers.

"Do you think… Maybe…"

"Yes." He runs a hand through his hair. "It's time."

She forgets to breathe, her other hand seeks his, grabs it. They don't look at each other, just sit, their torsos pressed together, their hands laced together. She hears footsteps on the stairs, doors opening and closing, the regular sounds of the house at work.

"When?" She needs to know, she needs to plan things.

"Before the season."

She understands: the season is hard on him now.

"Alright."

She feels the back of his index finger on her cheek and she turns to him. There is the hint of a tear in his eye and she leans in, kisses him softly. The fall back on the bed, scramble to the middle, tug on each other's clothes.

He cups her cheeks, his lips are velvety against hers, there is the need to feel each other completely, to know they are doing the right thing. His hand is under her skirts, runs over the silk of her stocking, her hands work at the buttons of his shirt, she gets tangled in his jacket, can't move, chortles.

Ever the gentleman, he helps her, removes his jacket then, his waistcoat, tie, shirt. There are still so many clothes. He watches her as she undresses, she is on her knees on the bed and he loves to see how she pulls her shift over her head. He runs his hands over her breasts, still firm to his touch, still sensitive, still so beautiful and desirable. He licks her nipples, draws one in, puts his hands on her waist, pushes her back on the bed.

She has her hands in his hair, pulls him towards her, opens her legs for him, wraps them around him. She can feel his desire through their underwear, her hips buck involuntarily and she bites her lip to stifle a moan.

She whispers in his ear, words of love, appreciation. His fingers are nimble and strong, he coaxes her out of her underwear, strokes her curls, her folds, between them. She arches her back, digs her heels in the bed, her shoes are long gone. He caresses her, draws circles over her sex, dips his finger in and she gasps as he bends it and makes her squirm.

"Come here…" she says, her hands around his upper arms, his muscles work under her fingers, his chest is against hers. She lets her hands travel over his sides, her fingers under the waistband, pulling them down, freeing his desire for her to take hold of.

He twitches under her touch and she decides not to tease him much longer, positioning him at her entrance, putting her arms around his neck, waiting for him to take her. When he does, she shudders, holds on tight. Little has changed, he still satisfies her. He still feels right. She loves him, more than anyone, more than anything. When she is with him, she is Elsie, not Mrs Hughes. When she is with him, she lays with her husband, even though they are not married. She feels like she belongs with him, that he is the one.

They roll from side to side, his touch is gentle, caring, his thrusts exactly right and she hears his sounds, the quiet pants, the wheezing noise he has gained a few years back.

"I love you…" she whispers, his ear is so close, she doesn't want to startle him.

"And I you…" His lips are on her cheek, she pulls his hair as he gathers up speed. His thrusts grow slightly more aggressive, she tilts her hips slightly to accommodate him, her moans come quicker, her breathing is laboured. He takes her hips in his hands, slams himself against her, she loves how he holds on to her, fills her so completely. He comes before she can, falls beside her. She smiles slightly.

She turns over to her side, kisses his cheek, traces a pattern from his shoulder to his chest, lets him catch his breath. His cheeks are smooth from his morning shave, she presses her forehead against one, needs his embrace, to feel it is alright. She needs to know their decision is the right one, carried by both.

He gathers her in his arms, slides his hand down her side, wraps it around her, holds her close.

"I am sorry you didn't…" He starts.

"That's alright. You'll make it up to me…" She is tangled with him, she doesn't know exactly whose limb is whose. Doesn't want to know. She wants to stay like this until she is certain about her life again.

"In our own home. In our bed." He says.

She swallows.

"Yes… Our own bed"

* * *

**A/N:** And more tonight!


	11. Legit

**A/N:** Ladies and gentlemen: THE WEDDING NIGHT!

* * *

They stand before the bed, hand in hand.

"Well…" she says.

"Yes.." he answers.

She lets go of his hand, goes to her vanity, sits down to take down her hair. He watches her, she sees it from the mirror. She smiles at him, she feels a little shy: everything is different now. Where she is, her name. There is a ring on her finger. No work waiting for either of them in the morning. They won't be working ever again. Her life has changed fundamentally with what happened in church.

They were all there, watched them kiss, congratulated them. They had a small celebration in the servants' hall. Their last. She walked through the house one more time, her routine, peeked one last time around the door of the Blue Room. It seemed unusually bare.

From her mirror she watches Charles take off his shoes. He turns around and starts to undress. He is wearing his Sunday suit. From tomorrow he won't be wearing his tails anymore. They have been to the tailor for three new suits, a light and heavy tweed and a plain black suit. She can easily imagine him pottering about in their little garden, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, his collar on the kitchen table.

Their kitchen table.

He is already in bed, she notices he isn't wearing his pyjama top and she suppresses a smile. She puts her shoes under the chair in the corner, takes off her blouse and skirt, takes her time. Her shift, her stays, her stockings, she folds and rolls and neatly places everything on the chair. A stocking falls off, she bends over to pick it up. From the bed comes a strangled groan, she swoops around.

"Are you alright?"

"Are you ever going to come to bed?"

"Just let me get my nightgown."

He sends the bedcovers flying, jumps out of bed and grabs her around the waist.

"You won't be needing your nightgown."

She puts her arms around his neck, stand on her toes, kisses him.

"Oh?"

His hands feel so familiar on her skin, her chest pressed against his so comfortable, his breath on her neck is tantalizing.

"I'll be pulling it off you on the first opportunity anyway…" He kisses a trail from her neck to her collar bone, down her breastbone. His arm on her waist pulls her towards the bed, the covers now messily gathered at the foot. She scrambles back on it, letting him find his place between her legs.

His weight on top of her is soothing in way - the things she has worried about: the wedding, the celebration, her retirement, his retirement - all fall to the background and are replaced with his solid presence. They kiss tenderly, lovingly, as she runs her hands down his spine, she feels the ring on her finger. Its' newness is something she will get used to, she looks forward to it being part of her, like her keys used to be.

He pushes her leg up beside him, her calf brushes his hip, she feels him against her through the fabric of their underwear. His kisses become more frantic, she scratches him slightly as he puts his fingers between the waistband of her panties and her skin and pulls them down. She lifts her bottom off the bed to aid him. He sits on his knees before her, he is so tall and his chest is so broad and strong. His chest hair is grey now, but still so plentiful. She reaches up to him, runs her hand through the soft curls.

He lays down beside her after carefully positioning her leg so he wouldn't lie on it and with the tips of his fingers he runs over her side, the curve of her belly, over the valley towards her sex. He outlines her labia, caresses her curls with the palm of his hand. She opens her legs for him, lets her own hand slide over his thigh and takes hold of him. The skin there is so soft, she still marvels about it after all this time and she still revels in the way he gasps when she touches his just so.

With a jerk he rolls over, pulls her over his chest and she sinks her knees into the new mattress on either side of him. His erection presses against her bottom, she rocks herself on top of him a few times, he must feel how she longs for him. He holds her arms as she comes up off him and gently lowers herself onto him and moans as she squeezes her muscles around him.

She arches her back as she rides him, leaning back slightly, her hair falls on his legs, his hand is at her breast. She takes it slow, wants him to know how much she loves him, how she yearns for him, always, but he won't let her take it easy. He puts his hand on her hips, guides her, thrusts up and she lets herself fall forward onto his chest and he rolls them both over, never breaking their contact.

He brushes away a strand of her hair and she puts her hand on his. They stare into each other's eyes, move slowly, gently, without any haste. She savours the feeling of him sliding in and out of her, his hips caught between her knees, his lips on her neck, her ear, her temple. She puts her hands on his cheeks, draws him near, kisses him with all the love she has in her, feels him reciprocate. A tear falls on her cheek, she brushes it away with a quick swipe of her hand. Focuses on where she is, what she is doing.

They take their time, a new sensation that gives her the feeling of being truly loved. They move to their side, Charles behind her, spooning her as they make love, his arm around her, his nose in her hair. She closes her eyes.

None of their moves are new, none of the touches are unfelt before and when they reach their climaxes, he a little before she does, hers running through her body like a tidal wave after he uses his fingers on her, they fall back on their bed.

In their bedroom.

In their house.

Their home.

And fall asleep.

* * *

**A/N:** I could do it fluffier - trust me, I tried. Tomorrow the last installment, but please do review this chapter, reviews ROCK MY SOCKS!


	12. Ever after

**A/N:** The last chapter :(  
I am going on holiday, who knows what I will bring back!  
Please do review, but I mostly want to say: THANK YOU FOR STICKING WITH THE STORY!

* * *

They slip into a routine fairly easily. After all, they have lived in the same house for years. What is new is being awoken with him poking her bottom. Sometimes she takes him up on the promise, a little surprised he is still asleep - she kisses and strokes him awake, their lovemaking is sleepy and tender, so much different from the urgence of the night. She finds it quite flattering that even in his sleep he finds her desirable. Sometimes she gets up and lets him sleep in, potters about the house, tries her hand at something in the kitchen.

Daisy has given her some written recipes and Elsie tries to follow them, but she finds it hard to follow the instructions. A pinch, a bit, fifteen minutes or so, oven on medium. None of it is actual, the results are inconsistent. He doesn't mind if the results are barely edible, she will never admit to a few tears being spilled.

But he is the perfect butler still, hidden under a civilian's suit and he finds her weeping over a tray of burnt scones and he takes her in his arms.

"That was supposed to be your tea…" She sniffs. She isn't used to crying, not used to showing any emotion, though in the weeks they have been here, she shows her love freely and it opens the road to more. He manages to make her laugh, a rippling sound heard more and more when he reads to her in the evening while she mends his socks or knits, when he tells her stories of footmen's mischief.

"I am sure we'll rustle something up. Bread and butter will be fine, bread and jam will be better." With his thumbs he wipes her tears away. "There is no use crying over this. Even back at Downton things like this would happen."

"Not to me."

"I don't remember you doing much of the cooking."

She shakes her head, smiles, puts her arms around his waist.

"No. I never was much of a cook. More a 'change the linens, check the maids, make love to the Butler' kind of woman, me…" She stands on her toes and pecks his cheek.

"Hmm… More of a 'seduce the butler, check the coast is clear, make love in the Blue Room kind' of woman." he kisses her soundly. "My kind of woman."

He lets her go, takes her hand, leads her into the sitting room, into the hall, up the stairs.

"It's broad daylight!" She exclaims, but she doesn't mean it.

"I am looking forward to seeing you." He opens the door to their room, turns to her. "All of you."

He kisses her neck, her new dresses are so much lower cut, he easily reaches the tender skin of her chest, his fingers slide down the zip at her back. The dress falls in a puddle at her feet while she starts to unbutton his shirt. He helps her out of her stays and shift, rolls down her stockings, she undoes his trousers, pulls at his vest until she can't reach. He is so much taller than she is.

He gets on the bed, she follows him, she is on her knees between his legs, she lets his head rest against her chest, runs her fingers through his hair, plants kisses on top of his head.

"I love you, Charles…" She mumbles and pushes him down on the mattress. She lies down next to him, puts her hand on his chest, lengthens herself to kiss him. The sun beams down on their bed. He pulls the pins from her hair, one by one, places them on the nightstand. Her hair falls down on the pillow and he gently strokes the long locks.

"They are almost like spun silver…" He says.

"I am an old woman, Charles." She answers, her fingertips ghost over his cheek.

"Maybe." He kisses her lips softly. "To me you are all I ever wanted."

She kisses him back. "I only ever wanted you." Her hand lies on his hip. They are so close together, she can feel him against her thigh, he isn't as ready as he sometimes is when he leads her upstairs and ravishes her in a haze of hunger.

"Are you happy?" He looks a bit worried.

"Disregarding the burnt scones, I am very happy." She hopes her smile reassures him.

"Good." They kiss again, tenderly, slowly, his fingers on her cheek, hers still on his hip. She feels how he stirs now and she lets her fingers wander to his bottom. His go from her cheek down her neck, her shoulder, her upper arm. He rolls her on her back.

"Now… let me look at you."

And he does. He gazes, lingers on his favourite parts, his gaze is soon joined by touches, he cups her breast, leans over, licks her nipple. She arches her back, pushes her head back into the pillow, puts her arm out so she can reach him, but she misses her goal as he draws in her nipple and sucks on it, almost hard. Then her hand is in his hair again, it always ends up there. It did when the hair was all dark and it ends up there now it is streaked with silver.

He feels so right, his skin against hers, she traces the new lines that are appearing on his brow, presses her lips against his. His chest hair brushes over her breasts, he positions himself at her entrance. She lift her legs, like she always does, moves to accommodate him. They rock back and forth, they cannot get closer, he whispers in her ear, endearments, words of love. She gasps and moans, wraps herself around him, she presses her cheek against his as he thrusts into her.

He halts, looks at her again, the sun no longer comes through the window, the light is softer now. He pushes away a strand of hair as he balances himself on his hands. She lowers her legs, puts her feet on the mattress. For now, there is no need for anything besides the basics. Besides feeling the nearness. They are joined and connected and she feels a love for him that has been growing since that first time she let him take her in the Dining Room.

She nods and he moves her, his weight on top of her first, but he pushes himself up and puts his hands under her bottom, lifts her a little and she lets her legs fly in the air, widens them, gives him as much access as she can. He is an expert lover, he knows exactly how to touch her, how to caress her, how to enter her at an angle that makes her forget everything around her. Her noises are loud, since they are married, she doesn't hold back.

As he increases his speed, she feels her climax come closer with every thrust and she calls out his name, calls out her love, begs for release. When he gives it to her, she groans and slumps back on her pillow, her eyes closed.

He lies down beside her, pulls the covers over them both. He kisses her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheek, finally her lips. She has no idea if he has managed to find some release himself, gingerly moves her legs, finds his residue leaking from her. She can't help but smile widely.

"Hello…" She says when she opens her eyes. He is looking at her again.

"Hello, wife." Her heart swells as he says it, tears well up in her eyes.

"Who would have thought…" Her voice wavers.

"I did. I knew." His voice is as steady as always. Steady and certain and soft.

"So this is what they call 'forever after' in storybooks?"

He doesn't answer, but puts his arms around her, kisses the top of her head, takes a deep breath and sighs contentedly.

'Yes.' She thinks. This is her happily ever after.

* * *

**A/N: **I think Charles and Elsie deserve a happily ever after, loving each other, being together until the end of time.  
Thanks again - I REALLY appreciate it!


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